


As Long As We're Alone

by SatiricalExile



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blood and Injury, Brock Rumlow Is A Decent Human Being, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Inaccuracies, Possible Out Of Character-ness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 15:18:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19153645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatiricalExile/pseuds/SatiricalExile
Summary: He knew the Asset wouldn’t remember this time, just like he hadn’t remembered the others. But it was okay, because in the end he always opened up to Brock.As long as they were alone.





	As Long As We're Alone

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Пока мы наедине (As Long As We're Alone)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20013949) by [Merla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merla/pseuds/Merla)



> I didn't really proofread this at all so I'll probably go back and change some things later but, I wrote this out of pure selfish indulgence because I love Brock and Bucky soft fics.  
> No Beta so be prepared  
> Brock Rumlow POV  
> Third Person Limited

 

Droplets of freezing water fell from the sky just to strike his skin and sting his flesh with their harsh bite. It was always raining on nights like this. Nights when he needed things to be easier, nights when he really could’ve used a break but the gods in the heavens above decided that it would be fun to make a situation as difficult as possible for Brock Rumlow.

 

Because what he needed the most as he’d dragged the Asset into one of HYDRA’s old safe houses was to slip on the mud beneath him and nearly crack his skull open on the stairs leading to the porch. Catching himself with his elbow on the cured wooden step, Brock hissed at the burn of the impact, pulling the Asset up further. Raindrops were cradled by long eyelashes that flickered as the soldier desperately tried to cling to his consciousness. It was unusual for the Asset to be so weak, he _was_ a super soldier after all, but he’d lost a lot of blood.

 

“Come on, Kotik,” He’d huffed out, the nickname he’d granted to the super soldier falling from his lips without a second thought. “I need you to work with me, buddy.”

 

It was difficult for him, Rumlow could see, but the Asset forced his legs to cooperate just long enough to get the two of them up on the pouch and eventually through the door. Finally making it inside, Rumlow forced the old lock into place as it began to stick with disuse. Hauling the Asset into the nearest room, he’d noticed it had been set up to look like a living room. Look like being the key phrase here, as this wasn’t a house. It looked like one, sure, but in all reality it was merely a ruse to keep HYDRA and it’s traveling agents hidden. Rumlow’s new base of operations was stuck right in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere in Washington state. Resembling a cabin in many ways, it had brought back memories from Brock’s childhood. Memories of fishing with his father, staying in their old family cabin for the weekend to get away from city life for a while. A time that had been.

 

Glancing toward the old fireplace, Rumlow found himself relieved that the place had already been left with materials to burn. It would be good to keep the both of them warm on a night like that one, where freezing air forced its way through every crack in the timbered walls. As he laid the Asset down, in an uncharacteristically gentle manner, Rumlow made his way to the entrance of the hearth as he’d examined what he’d been left with to start up a fire. A few chopped logs, some kindling, and tinder. Taking a moment, he’d noticed a distinct lack of lighter fluid and Rumlow growled deep in his chest before standing to head toward the small kitchen there. HYDRA safe houses always came equipped with essentials; non-perishable foods, upgraded first aid kits, and a lot of water bottles.

 

All but ransacking the cabinets he was able to come across exactly what he was looking for; a small bottle of cooking oil. Pulling the roll of paper towels off of the counter while he returned to the fireplace, crouching so quickly that his knees popped. Rumlow had been quick to work as he’d doused the cellulose sheets in the oil and placed  them meticulously alongside the other materials nestled within the wall of logs he’d created. Tugging a lighter from one of the many pockets on his tactical pants, he lit one of the grease soaked pieces of paper before laying a smaller log atop to finish the entire thing off and a sigh left him.

 

Now for the hard part.

 

Standing, he turned his attention to the Asset and made his way to sit next to the injured soldier.

 

“Status report.” He’d demanded, the aloof tone of his voice reaching the cold look in his eyes.

 

“Ballistic trauma. Between fifth and sixth ribs on the left side. No symptoms of pneumothorax. Possibility of hypovolemic shock if left untreated.” Was the wheezed reply of his charge and Rumlow cursed beneath his breath as he’d searched for the emergency first-aid kit that HYDRA’s medical team was sure to leave behind in bases such as the cabin. It wasn’t hard to find, in a coat closet a measly three steps from the fireplace and Rumlow found himself sitting on the sectional couch next to the Asset. The material of it was pristine, white and it looked expensive. All that money wasted just to have the blood of a super soldier stain it.

 

“C’mon, lose the gear and the shirt.” Rumlow sighed, more annoyed than he seemed concerned given the circumstance. Most would have lost their head by that point, terrified and unknowing. But Rumlow wasn’t most; he was a trained HYDRA opperative, captain of the STRIKE team, and a handler of the gods damned Winter Soldier. He wouldn’t let a bit of blood or a bullet wound keep him from finishing his mission. The rest of the STRIKE team had likely already made it out of state, in a cramped quinjet, on their way to D.C. The information they’d wanted had been acquired, the flashdrive of an awol ex HYDRA scientist taken, and the man himself killed on sight. Sadly, their target hadn’t been operating alone, other traitors of their organization opening fire on the STRIKE team and scattering them. Which was how Rumlow ended up, essentially, carrying the Asset into the Washington wilderness, toward the closest safe house. One of which he was only made aware of due to the volatility of the mission and the high probability of it going wrong.

 

Watching the Asset struggle to do so much as remove his tactical gear was a new sight for him and he’d admit that it tugged at his heartstrings. Rumlow knew that he had a soft spot for the Asset, that he’d never liked being as harsh on him as his previous handlers had been but he had a job to do. And yet, seeing this weak figure before him, struggling to breathe and without the familiar strength Rumlow had come to know, it was odd because he’d thought he’d seen everything that his little soldier had to offer. Apparently not.

 

None of the other STRIKE members got as up close and personal with the Asset as Rumlow did. Of course they didn’t, they weren’t handlers. They weren’t even supposed to make eye contact with the Asset, nevermind get near him. But they’d seen him injured. Usually, he’d walk it off, report the damage, and get fixed up all good as new. It was what the handler was used to witnessing as well. This time was different, though. The blood loss was starting to stunt his movement, the lack of immediate care that he would’ve received on the quinjet ride back home allowing the intense adrenaline to disperse and pain settle within the cracks.

 

Allowing himself to budge, Rumlow aided the Asset in undressing down to his waist, watching as the soldier’s head rolled back to rest on the back of the couch while his labored breaths mixed with the crackle of the fire.

 

The wound itself looked pretty bad, the bleeding showing no signs of stopping anytime soon and Rumlow felt himself growing protective and angry that he’d allowed this to happen to his dear Asset. Using the minimal supplies he had, he’d gone to work. As far as he could tell, the Asset was breathing just fine and upon pressing his head against the soldier’s chest, his intakes sounded normal despite a bit of a hitch. If his lung had collapsed, Rumlow wouldn’t have heard his breathing on that side at all, he knew this and it aided him in what he needed to do.

 

Deciding to leave the bullet buried within the Asset’s chest for the time being, Rumlow figured it best to focus on stopping the bleeding. If he were to search for the shrapnel, the soldier below him would only lose more blood and would likely go into shock and well, even if he cared for the Asset in some way, he couldn’t help but selfishly wonder what would happen to him if the fist of HYDRA had succumbed to the injury under his watch. He didn’t like the image that came to mind.

 

Stitching the wound in the most efficient way he was able to, Rumlow made sure to clean it with the antiseptic provided, praying to whatever cruel deity cared enough to lend their ear that he would be able to push the Asset through the night. Finally, tightening the gauze around the super soldier’s body, Rumlow sat back and huffed out a breath before he’d tossed the bloodied towel he had into the open med kit before his eye caught a bottle of Tylenol. Shrugging, he’d grabbed the pills, retreating to the kitchen once again for two water bottles before returning to the Asset’s side and coaxing him to take the medication in which he did. Of course he did. He didn’t have the choice not to.

 

“Oh, Kotik, you always get yourself into the worst trouble, don’t you?” He sighed, looking into the beauty of those gunmetal blue eyes, normally sharp and focused, now hazy and unattentive. If he was a lesser man, he would’ve taken advantage of the Asset’s weakened state, had his way and reaped callous pleasure from the pliant body. But he wasn’t and he wouldn’t. It had taken Rumlow years as a handler to get to the point where he knew the Asset trusted him. Not the same blind ‘trust’ that came along with anyone authorized in giving him orders, no. A true and deep faith that the Asset hadn’t shown in other handlers. And Brock liked it despite putting his ass on the line by breaking the rules. He did it because he wanted to, because he knew it made _his Kotik_ happy. Emotion was rare and almost impossible to evoke from a brainwashed super soldier, it took time and a lot more patience than many had. Rumlow had that tolerance, though, and he’d be damned if he’d allow his desire to cost all of the work he’d put in.

 

“Let’s get some food in you.” He sighed. Rumlow knew that when talking to the Asset, it was like talking to himself. After all, the soldier wasn’t usually authorized to speak unless he was answering a question. Conditioned not to question, have opinion, or want, he was the perfect, unhindered soldier. Unless he was alone with one Brock Rumlow. Rumlow brought out, what Pierce would call, the worst in the Asset. Rumlow could get him to make the decisions he shouldn’t have been making, to have the opinions that he shouldn’t. It was all with little things, things that seemed natural to anyone else. Like what did he want to eat or how he felt about cold weather. In truth, the Asset was not made to want nor was he made to care about what was happening. But Rumlow could coax those answers from him in the sweetest ways.

 

“Do you want coffee or tea, sweetheart?” He asks, the pet name catching the Asset’s attention for a moment. Rumlow watched as his charge’s eyes averted in thought. Choices weren’t supposed to be an option for the Asset and if a single soul other than Rumlow had been present at the time, he knew that he wouldn’t have gotten a response. But he did.

 

“Coffee… Two sugars.” Was the reply Rumlow was greeted with and he’d smiled whilst reveling in his accomplishment.

 

“I know what to do.” He chuckled before escaping to the kitchen. The coffee grounds there were going to be bitter, much less appetizing than the exotic coffee beans that he was used to but it would do for the night. As for dinner options, the two of them were left with rice and canned beef stew which would do just fine for the time being. None of it took too long to cook, mostly just heating up on the stews part. It still amazed Rumlow how long canned soups could actually last. Once he’d finished making everything, he tossed their food in bowls and their coffee in cups before returning to the Asset in the main room. Rumlow could see that he was desperately trying to remain conscious, something that annoyed him. He knew that the Asset wasn’t supposed to sleep, it was one of the rules. He was meant to be kept alert and ready to attack or defend at a moment’s notice but it put a sour taste in the back of Brock’s mouth. He wasn’t like the other handlers, or the scientists, or the doctors. The Asset knew he wouldn’t be punished around him and yet that damned programming seemed to shine through despite his efforts. He’d break through it one day.

 

Settling their dinner down onto the table, Rumlow found his place sitting beside the Asset with coffees in hand. With a lazy stare, the soldier took what was offered to him and Rumlow sighed quietly while the wind and the fire kept created a comfortable ambience to cradle their silence. This quietness continued throughout the course of their meal and he’d noticed that his charge hadn’t eaten much which worried him. That seemed to happen a lot, Rumlow had noticed. More and more, albeit reluctantly, he’d found himself growing protective over the Asset. Wishing to keep him safe and out of harm’s way which was, unfortunately, an impossibility given their job description. Getting chased down with gunfire was just an occupational hazard and at that point, a typical Thursday afternoon.

 

Once they’d finished dinner━ moreso, once Brock had finished dinner and the Asset had decided he couldn’t stomach anymore━ Rumlow had snuck back into the main bedroom of the cabin, in search of some much needed clean clothes. Ideally, he would’ve like to have a shower but with the current condition of the soldier, he didn’t want to risk something going wrong. Per usual, the master bedroom of the place was stocked full with changes of clothes in many sizes. It almost looked like a raided clothing section at a supercenter. All black, all void of any design or uniqueness to them which was for the standard of HYDRA. Even the civies were nothing but uniforms. It was a guessing game when it came to getting clothes for the Asset. Rumlow, reluctantly, acknowledge that he was taller. More broad as well. The guy was built like a goddamn tank. Whatever he grabbed, he hoped would work because he knew he wasn’t spending his night in that cold ass back room trying to meticulously find the right fit.

 

Figuring _‘the bigger the better,’_ Rumlow made his way back to the Asset to check on how his bandages were doing. Everything looked clean enough, blood hadn’t soaked through yet which he took as a good sign. That meant it was stopping, or slowing down at the very least. Somehow working with his charge’s sluggish movements to get him into the t-shirt, he sighed heavily as he’d glanced to the combat boots and tactical pants the Asset wore.

 

“Think you can manage the rest?” Rumlow tried, knowing that his question wouldn’t be treated as though there was an option. Unsurprisingly, the Asset moved to dress himself and Rumlow had been quick to do the same. Sweat and blood that wasn’t his own stuck to his body and he shuddered at how grimy he felt. Damn, that shower sounded good right then and there. Glancing to his charge he huffed and ignored the urge to say ‘ _fuck it_ ’ in favor of getting clean, reminding himself that the shower wouldn’t be worth being eviscerated if something were to happen to the Asset.

 

Afterward, he sighed heavily, linking the man’s right arm over his shoulder and standing, forcing the other to stand as well despite his apparent reluctance. But he knew that laying in his own blood all night wasn’t going to be the best bet, instead deciding to perch the two of them by the fire on a mound of pillows and blankets that he’d gathered. Just like the furniture in the house, it was overly expensive. Comfortable, sure, but it felt like it wasn’t for them. It was in case any wondering eyes had come looking. In case an outsider had stumbled upon the place and questioned it. It needed to look lived in, like there would be people returning. Which there was, maybe not as often as one would expect from a place of such quality but, eventually someone always came back.

 

Coaxing the man down, Rumlow found himself sinking onto the floor as well, exhausted from that days antics.

 

“Alright, Kotik, we both need some rest.” He huffed. Now, what Brock would have expected was some sort of comment on how someone needed to keep watch or how it went against orders for him to sleep. Both of which he had answers for but what he got was something entirely different.

“Why do you call me that? I know it means cat but I don’t understand how it correlates to me. Still, you always call me that. Why?” The words were almost accusatory, as if it had been on the Asset’s mind for a while and he’d finally mustered up the courage to say something about it. The weariness in his eyes as he stared at Rumlow was amusing, cute even, and the handler found himself letting out a chuckle.

 

“Well,” He started, pulling away his gaze. “I’ve noticed that you relax around me. I mean, as long as we’re alone. And because of that I get to see some of your personality. How you act is very much like a house cat.”

 

There was a small laugh on Rumlow’s part that wasn’t reciprocated by the Asset and he found himself questioning why he thought it would’ve been.

 

“Elaborate.” Was all he heard and Rumlow sighed again, shrugging.

 

“I dunno, you eat a lot, sleep a lot, and want attention.” Another small laugh escaped him as he shook his head a bit. “At least, any I’ve ever known.”

 

Another silence settled between them before Rumlow finally laid down on the makeshift pallet of blankets and he’d found himself opening up his arms in beckoning for the Asset. Staring for a moment, a weary and distant look in his gaze, the soldier finally allowed himself to give in, lowering until he was beside his handler, his head resting on Rumlow’s shoulder. And he liked it. Carding his fingers through long hair, Rumlow wondered to himself why he’d always anticipated something soft to the touch when he had. The Asset wasn’t taken care of in such a way, not regularly. Because of this, his hair was usually greasier but Rumlow couldn’t bring himself to care that much when he was watching his sweet kitten’s eyes droop until he’d finally gone lax and allowed himself a moment of peace.

 

It would all be over in the morning, when someone was sent to come and pick them up. The Asset would be taken to medical to be fixed up just to have his memory purged of their gentle moment together before he was tossed back into cryo. The next time such an opportunity for the two of them rose, Brock would once again explain why he’d chosen ‘Kotik’ as a good nickname, and the two of them would get to share another moment such as that one. He knew the Asset wouldn’t remember this time, just like he hadn’t remembered the others. But it was okay, because in the end he always opened up to Brock.

 

As long as they were alone.

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't really taking this too seriously when I wrote it so hopefully the story was cohesive enough to follow. I just wanted to write a quick oneshot between other fics bc I needed to give my brain a break from other stories.  
> Anyways, please tell me what you thought! I love feedback  
> And thanks for reading! 
> 
> -Caleb


End file.
